


Age Of Consent

by Sandyclaws68



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Established Katsuki Yuuri/Victor Nikiforov, Gen, Hinted Otabek Altin/Yuri Plisetsky, Katsuki Yuuri and Victor Nikiforov are Yuri Plisetsky's Parents, M/M, Yurio has a potty mouth, Yurio is traumatized by puberty, Yuuri and Yurio friendship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-04
Updated: 2017-02-04
Packaged: 2018-09-21 21:01:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,193
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9566189
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sandyclaws68/pseuds/Sandyclaws68
Summary: He's not exactly ignorant about sex, but that doesn't mean he's ready forThe Talk.Or the one in which Yurio freaks out, Yuuri frets, and Viktor somehow manages to be both Dad Of The Year and Boyfriend Of The Year at the same time.





	

The frantic knocking on the door jolted Yuuri out of his pleasant afternoon doze. At first he thought the noise had been part of a dream, but as soon as he noticed Makkachin sitting at the door, tail lazily wagging, he knew otherwise. As soon as the noise started again – harder and louder – he rose from the sofa and crossed the room, blanket dragging behind him like the train on a wedding gown.

The door was barely open before a whirlwind of blond hair, blue-green eyes, and bad attitude blew into the apartment. It passed through the kitchen long enough to grab a glass of juice before collapsing in a heap in Viktor's favorite arm chair. It was only then than Yuuri got a good look at the flushed, flustered, and slightly terrified face of Yuri Plisetsky.

“Ummm,” he began, somewhat reluctant to learn what had reduced the Ice Tiger of Russia to such a pitiable state.

“What?!” Plisetsky barked. “Whatever it is just spit it out, already.”

“Just. . . Just wondering why you're here,” Yuuri managed to stammer out. There was a flash of something in the green eyes he was looking at that gave him a shot of courage. “And why you're in such a state.”

“I. . . I'm. . . I'm not in a _state_.”

“Yurio, you're still wearing your shoes, even though you know the number one rule of this house is to remove them at the door. Not to mention how warm you must be in that heavy coat.”

Plisetsky deposited his glass on the end table (Yuuri squelched the need to put a coaster under it) and rose to his feet with a sigh. He crossed the living room and kicked off his shoes, placing them in a line beside Yuuri's, then shrugged out of his coat and hung it in the closet. The familiar actions seemed to have a relaxing effect on him, because when he returned to his chair he appeared much calmer. Yuuri bit his bottom lip to prevent a smile.

“Okay, think you can tell me what's going on now?” he asked.

A flush raced up Plisetsky's face and he immediately tensed. Yuuri felt a pang of sympathy, but he refused to let up. “Look, you came here after whatever-it-was that happened instead of going home or to Yakov's,” he said, exasperated “So I'm guessing – Yurio! What's wrong?!”

The younger man had paled and and started emitting choked off sounds at the mention of his coach's name. Yuuri leaned forward and grabbed the glass of juice, all but shoving it into Plisetsky's hand. “Drink,” he ordered, watching as the young Russian took three careful swallows and some measure of color returned to his face. “Now talk.”

“I. . . I. . . I can't go to Yakov,” he managed to stammer out. “He'll only side with her.”

“Her? Who her?”

Plisetsky rolled his eyes. “ _Her_ ,” he groaned, drawing the single syllable out just enough to allow Yuuri to add up the pieces. There was only one female in their lives that the boy referred to like that.

“You mean Madame Baranovskaya? Lilia?” It was a struggle to keep his face composed and not start laughing, but Yuuri somehow managed it. “What has she done to make you -” He waved a hand awkwardly between them, grinning when Plisetsky made a sound like an angry kitten.

“Make me freak the fuck out?” the Russian said, finishing the question that the older man had left unspoken.

“I wouldn't have put it quite like that, but yes. Basically.”

Plisetsky's face flamed again, and Yuuri waited for him to regain some measure of composure. “It's. . . well. . .” He sighed and glanced down at his lap for a moment before looking up again, defiance blazing in his eyes. “You know that my birthday is coming up right?”

“Of course I do.”

“It's my sixteenth birthday, and that's -” He groaned and covered his face with his hands. “That's the age of consent.”

The words came out muffled and garbled, but time spent with Viktor's excitable manner of speech had made Yuuri more or less an expert at catching what was said under difficult circumstances. But he still wasn't quite certain he was understanding, worried that something was getting lost in translation. “The age of what?” he finally asked.

“Consent,” Plisetsky more-or-less shouted as he uncovered his face. “Consent for sex. You do know sex, right, Katsudon? I mean, all that _Eros_ skating had to be worth something.”

Yuuri blushed, as much in anger as in embarrassment. “Yes, I know sex,” he ground out. “But what I'm failing to see -” He choked off the words as one possibility occurred to him. “You. . . I mean. . .” He swallowed hard and forced himself to meet Plisetsky's green eyes. “Madame Baranovskaya gave you _The Talk_?”

The soon-to-be sixteen year old surged to his feet with a toss of his hair. “UGH! Do you have to put it like?” He stomped off to the kitchen to pour himself some more juice.

“How would you like me to put it?” Yuuri asked, standing and removing the glass from Plisetsky's unsteady hand before the pink grapefruit juice could spill on the pristine white rug. “There's only so many ways to describe such a conversation without resorting to horrid clichés or outright crudity,” he said, making sure there was a coaster underneath it when he set the glass down.

Plisetsky dropped back into the armchair, stroking one of Makkachin's ears when the poodle laid his head on the boy's knee. “There were no clichés or anything crude,” he finally replied after calming down a bit. “Just. . . Facts. Reality. All in frighteningly clinical language.” His head dropped to the back of the chair as he chuckled without amusement. “Penis. Vagina. Clitoris. Spongy bodies. And if I never have to hear the word flaccid again I would die happy.”

“Wha -”

The blond head lifted up and sea-green eyes met Yuuri's. “She told me that I should never feel inferior if my penis seemed small when flaccid because that meant it had more room to grow, physiologically speaking.” He smirked. “More room to. . . expand.”

Yuuri swallowed hard. “I think I'm going to be sick,” he muttered.

“And the anatomy and physiology discussion was actually tame compared to when she started discussing the mechanics of the act itself!” Plisetsky's full-body shudder was so strong it almost moved the chair. “That was when I ran out and came here.”

“Why?” Yuuri asked, genuinely curious. “I mean you can't be completely ignorant of the mechanics, as you called it. What made you leave?”

The blush that bloomed up Plisetsky's face came as a total surprise to his companion. “It was. . . well.” The boy sighed and shoved his hair out of his face. “It was all about men and women together, and I didn't have the heart – or the guts - to tell her that I wasn't exactly sure I fit that mold, so I left.”

“Not _exactly_ sure? What does that even mean?”

“What do you think it means, piglet? There have been girls that I've found attractive -” He didn't specify, but the name Mila hung in the air. “But there are also -”

His words were cut off by the sound of footsteps in the hall. Yuuri could hear Viktor whistling outside, an off-key rendition of _Yuri On Ice_ that nearly made him wince. He turned back to look at Plisetsky, shocked at the pale face and the shaking head, the repetitive mouthing of _No_. “Just kill me now.” the boy groaned out, eyes closing.

“Yurio -”

A hand snaked out and caught hold of Yuuri's arm just above his elbow. “I can't deal with this now,” he whispered. “You know him; he'll want to 'help' and as appalling as _The Talk_ was from Lilia it'd be about a thousand times worse from Viktor.”

Yuuri wanted to argue otherwise – being bisexual at least Viktor could give Plisetsky both perspectives – but he kept his mouth shut. Better to ease the boy into what was going to be an inevitable discussion. He got to his feet and moved to the door.

“ _Okaeri_ , Vitya,” he called out, stepping close to kiss his fiancé on the cheek (and incidentally keep Plisetsky's presence a secret a moment longer). “How was training this afternoon?”

“Hellish,” Viktor moaned, burying his face in his lover's neck. “Lilia was on the warpath for some reason, so Yakov made himself scarce to avoid her and -” He raised his head. “Yurio! What are you doing here?”

“So I need a fucking reason to come over now?” Plisetsky growled. “Whatever happened to _Treat our place like your own home, Yura! You'll always be welcome!_.” He snorted “Guess that didn't last very long.”

Viktor looked surprised for a moment, then his eyes narrowed. “Did Lilia get to you today also?” he asked, tone speculative. “I swear she -”

“Viktor.”

The word may have been spoken softly, but the command in Yuuri's voice was unmistakable. Viktor immediately clamped his mouth shut, looking from one to the other. “Okay, one of you spill. What am I missing?”

Plisetsky managed to look at every point in the room but Viktor's face while Yuuri's gaze remained fixed on the young blond. “Tell him, Yurio,” he finally said after the silence had dragged on for a good few minutes.

“No. No way. Hell and fuck no.”

Yuuri pushed his glasses up and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I'm seriously too old for this crap,” he muttered before turning to Viktor. “Yura wasn't a victim of Lilia's bad mood today, he was the cause of it.” He slapped a hand over the teenager's mouth before a drawn-in breath could turn into angry words. “She more or less gave him _The Talk_ , and he did not take it well.”

His hand was shoved off and Yuuri heard Plisetsky's half angry, half sad comment. “I hate you, pig.”

“Wait a minute,” Viktor injected, blue eyes wide as he stared at the boy beside his fiancé. “ _The Talk_? What is that supposed to mean?”

“Oh for fuck's. . .” Plisetsky seemed to be resisting the urge to kick something, or someone. “The two of you spend ninety-three per cent of your spare time trying to crawl inside each other's pants and you're surprised – SHOCKED – at any other mention of sex?”

In order to fight back the urge to laugh Viktor focused instead on Yuuri's face, watching in loving fascination as the flush reached his ears. “It's not shock, Yura,” he said when he finally felt capable of responding. “Just. . . Well, honestly, I didn't expect to be hearing this when I came home, and I definitely didn't expect that it'd be Lilia doing the honors.” The laugh that he had worked to suppress became irresistible and bubbled over, earning him glares from both.

“Stop laughing at the boy, Vitya.”

“Yeah, stop laughing asshole!”

“Yurio, please go to the kitchen. I want to talk to Viktor. Alone.”

“Like hell! You're just going to talk about me, so -”

“Yurio.”

Like Viktor a few moments ago Plisetsky knew that tone of voice, and knew better than to continue arguing. With one last, dark look at the other two he made his way to the kitchen, making sure to bang the refrigerator door when he got himself another glass of juice.

Yuuri winced at the sound of glass bottles in the fridge colliding, but knew he couldn't waste any time. Heaven only knew how long Plisetsky would stay away, so he had to get what he needed to say out as quickly as possible. He grabbed Viktor's hand and pulled him across the living room until they could both drop into the window seat.

“Don't keep poking the tiger, Vitya,” he began without any warm up. “He's just upset enough right now to do something you'll both regret.”

“Why would he be upset?” Viktor asked in a scoffing tone. “It's not like he's completely ignorant of anything to do with sex, you know. Yakov has confiscated dirty magazine's from his locker on more than one occasion.” He smirked and waggled his eyebrows. “Or is that what's upsetting you, _solnyshko_? The idea that someone you see as a child is _oooof_!”

The back of Yuuri's hand making solid contact with Viktor's gut was enough to shut the older man up. “Don't be an ass. Given what the legal age of consent is in Japan I'd be an absolute hypocrite to get upset about that. No, the problem is in how Lilia approached the conversation.” He sighed and leaned against the large pillow at his back. “Apparently she was very technical, very clinical, very anatomically correct, and -” He sucked in a deep breath. “And very heterosexual.”

Viktor's eyebrows went up. “And that's a problem because?”

“Well, to use Yurio's own words he's not exactly sure he fits that mold. And I figured that given your. . . experience you'd be the best person to, well, tell him what he maybe needs to know.” Viktor opened his mouth to respond, but Yuuri forestalled whatever he planned to say. “And don't you dare play dumb; you now precisely what I'm talking about.”

The glint in those blue eyes hinted at amusement, but even more at understanding and a measure of compassion. Yuuri felt his heart swell with love for this impossible man, reassured, as he always was, by Viktor's fundamental kindness. He knew that his lover would not let him down, but even more importantly he would not let their young friend down.

Viktor leaned in and pressed their foreheads together for long moment before giving his fiancé a gentle kiss. “It'll be all right,” he whispered, ghosting his lips across the dark haired man's cheek. “I'll take care of everything.”

Yuuri took a deep breath and nuzzled his nose beneath his fiancé’s jaw. “Just don't piss him off,” was his only response.

“Don't fret, love. I can handle this.” One last kiss was bestowed on the top of a head, and then Viktor pulled away. “Yurio, let's go get some coffee!” he called out, moving back towards the door.

“HUH?!”

“Don't 'huh' me, just get your coat and come.”

****~**~**~**~**~****

During the intervening two hours Yuuri did his best to follow Viktor's edict to not fret, but it was a damned near impossible feat. He fretted about how his fiancé would broach the subject, and about how Plisetsky would react to hearing _The Talk_ from “that dirty old man”, as he frequently called Viktor. He was fretting over the possibility that the boy would ask for details about their sex life when he took Makkachin out for his evening walk and fretting about whether or not he knew whichever male had prompted the confusion when he returned home. The normal post-walk ritual of wiping down the poodle's paws to remove any remnants of de-icing solutions calmed his mind briefly, but as soon as he had a cup of tea in hand and was back in the window seat the worrying began anew.

And it only got worse when he heard Viktor's keys in the lock. Yuuri sprang to his feet and raced to the door, jerking it open on two surprised Russian faces.

Viktor, with his usual aplomb, recovered first, laying a hand on Plisetsky's back. “Go to bed, Yura,” he said, softly. “I'll let Yakov know you're here so he doesn't worry. And call your math tutor about the missed session this afternoon.”

The younger Russian nodded tiredly and shrugged out of his coat, not caring where it landed. Yuuri caught it before it hit the floor, quickly feeling in one of the pockets to pass Plisetsky his phone. With an almost-smile the boy took it before shuffling off to the guest bedroom, head hanging so that his blond hair obscured his face.

“Viktor, what -”

A finger pressed to his lips stopped Yuuri's words, and Viktor shook his head. “Not now,” he whispered, leaning in to rub his cheek against his fiancé’s hair.

Not now turned into almost three hours later once they were curled up together in bed, Makkachin sprawled across their feet. “Are you ready to tell me now?” Yuuri asked as Viktor played with the hair at the nape of his neck.

“Mmmm,” Viktor hummed, the sound vibrating through his lover's chest. “It went. . . well, I think. He listened, which is more than I honestly expected when we left for the coffee house.” He pulled Yuuri a little closer, tangling their legs together and sinking one hand into soft, dark hair.

“Did he. . . I mean. . .” With a choked sound Yuuri buried his blushing face against Viktor's chest, who just chuckled in response.

“No, he didn't tell me who it is that has him 'confused', but I have a fairly good idea who it most likely is.” He kissed the top of Yuuri's head. “But after a discussion of the mechanics of a physical relationship between two men – I swear he stopped breathing for about two minutes in the middle – I simply told him that there is no shame in what he's been feeling and that the most important thing was for him to be true to himself, however he needed to be. He gave that a few moments thought before agreeing, and promising that he'd come talk to us whenever he felt things were getting a bit much.” Viktor laughed. “I have to admit that last part surprised me; I thought for sure we'd be the last people he'd want to discuss sexual thoughts and teen aged hormones with.”

Yuuri sighed. “I'm glad. I want him to be comfortable with whoever he grows up to be, and if we can help him along that road I'll gladly do so.”

“Even if he wants to ask about our first time together?”

“WHAT?!” Yuuri exclaimed, jack knifing to a sitting position and feeling instantaneous heat on his face. “Oh God, I knew it. I KNEW IT!” He buried his face in his hands.

“Relax, _solnyshko_. I didn't tell him anything. I said that everyone's experience is unique and that you couldn't assume anything based on that. And that he should always remember that respecting and caring about each other are more important than want or desire.” He rubbed circles on Yuuri's back, waiting for the other man to relax and return to his arms. “I told him that _that_ was what he should learn from our example.”

With a deep breath Yuuri laid back down, allowing Viktor's hand to return to his hair. “It sounds like you took care of everything,” he said, letting his eyes drift closed.

“I promised you I would.”

A peaceful silence descended on the room, broken only by their deep, even breathing and an occasional snuffle from Makkachin. Yuuri felt himself drifting into the willing embrace of sleep, but was yanked back by the buzz of his phone on the nightstand. He reached out to get a hold of it, seeing that it was an email notification. An email from a surprising source, as he learned as soon as he opened it.

“Viktor?”

“Hmmm?”

“Do you want to tell me why Otabek Altin is suddenly RSVPing 'Yes' to Yurio's birthday party?”

“Yeah, about that. . .”


End file.
